


Traces

by themegalosaurus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Body Image, First Time, Intimacy, Kissing, M/M, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 01:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10425843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themegalosaurus/pseuds/themegalosaurus
Summary: Hunters have scars. Sam doesn't.





	

**Author's Note:**

> More Sam/Max I CAN'T HELP IT GUYS (just a snippet really but)

They’re in bed together that first night and it’s maybe two thirty in the morning. Max is asleep, mostly, dozing naked on top of the blankets, but the mattress shifts as Sam moves beside him and he cracks open an eyelid in anticipation of another round. He could definitely stand to go again.

“Hey,” says Sam quietly. They left the bedside lamp on when they fell asleep and the yellow light of it is illuminating his face, the high angle of his cheekbones and the sharp line of his jaw. The choppy hair around his face is hanging in his eyes, and if Max were even twenty percent less tired he’d reach up to brush it away. As it is, though, his limbs are still sex-sleepy, heavy and soft. He lets his eyes fall closed.

Sam moves again and the mattress dips and Max is gonna, he’s gonna open his eyes, but before he manages to get the signal to leave his brain, he feels Sam’s fingertips brushing careful down his side. They trace around the messy star of a scar gouged above his hipbone, legacy of a hodag that he hunted up near Marquette. Around, Sam’s fingers go, around and around, tracing the line where shiny scar tissue meets skin. Max floats behind the dark of his eyelids, appreciating the willing touch all the more for the fact that before today, Sam’s body language was so defensively self-contained. His sudden unfurling into somebody soft and affectionate feels like a privilege, a glimpse at a secret self.

Sam’s fingertips walk across Max’s abdomen, leaving a goosebump trail of footprints behind. They brush, now, over the winding ridge under his ribs where a vampire straight-up stabbed him in the guts. That was a nasty one (blood bubbling up into his mouth, Alicia screaming).

Max can anticipate where Sam’s hands will wander next: the patch of bleached, blistery skin across his shoulder that got hit with a dark witch’s curse that even his Mom couldn’t mend. The witch had died in the confrontation and that was it, Mom had told him, no living blood so no magic, no cure. It had been painful, the scar emerging through a slow burned corrosion that kept him sweating for three nights after, biting down on his pillow so as not to let on how it hurt. Sam’s touch when it comes is soft, and unexpected. Where Max was anticipating the dry skin of Sam’s open palm, he feels the warm damp imprint of his lips.

That does prompt him to open his eyes.

“You into the battle wounds?” he asks, and Sam lifts his head to look at him.

He smiles, embarrassed. “Yeah. No. I don’t know.” He kisses the smaller scar on Max’s forearm where a shifter got too happy with a knife. “Into you, mostly.”

Max rolls his shoulders against the mattress, slides his feet to shimmy his hips. “Of course. I’m irresistible.” Sam has Max’s hand between his, now, thumbs running across the hundred tiny scars that disfigure it. Max closes his eyes again, the better to feel the sensation.

Eyes closed also feels like the right condition under which to throw out the question that’s been on his mind. He’s been wondering, after all, since this evening when Sam stripped off - wonders now, really, if he should say it, but fuck. They’re in bed and Sam feels open in a way that he hasn’t. “You, uh, you don’t have many yourself,” he says.

Given that he’s a hunter and that he likes to have sex, it’s maybe surprising how few other hunters Max has slept with. They’re not his type, mostly, too macho and brash, too dumb. (That’s where they’ll even admit being into men.) Sam’s different. He has substance. He also has the clearest skin Max has ever seen on a hunter: not clear like, he drinks cucumber water for breakfast, clear like he doesn’t carry a trace of the job. You don’t have to fuck a hunter to notice their missing fingertips, or the scars over their cheekbones, the raw skin around their wrists. Sam has none of that. And Max has heard the legends; it isn’t from staying indoors.

Sam clears his throat, a tight anxious sound. “I,” he says. “I, uh.”

Max turns his hand to catch Sam’s fingers, rubs his own thumb over the mound of Sam’s. He keeps his eyes closed. He’s making space. “You don’t need to tell me,” he says.

“No, it’s fine,” says Sam, unconvincing. “I have, a, uh. Our friend Castiel. He’s got the, uh, the healing touch. So.”

“Nice,” says Max carefully, dragging out the sound. “Good as new, every time.” He cracks his eyelids to let in the light but he’s careful not to look at Sam.

“Yeah. I don’t know,” says Sam. His hand is still in Max’s but it’s tense, unmoving, and Max wonders if he’s fucked up, ruined the mood. After a long few minutes, Sam draws his hand away. Max is just cursing himself for an idiot when he feels Sam’s touch at his hip again, his fingertips circling the hodag scar. “This is you. It’s your life. It’s good to be able to touch that.”

Max lets himself look. Sam is gazing serious down at Max’s stomach, his profile outlined dark against the glow from the room behind. Sam’s nose is possibly the best nose Max has ever seen. Just the pointed tip of it is better than the whole of any other guy Max has banged in the last two years. Every bit of Sam’s body is attractive. It’s sad that he doesn’t seem to like it much.

Sam turns, then, catching his eye, and Max wonders what to say. He doesn’t want to intrude. Sam has boundaries, and he can respect that. But.

In the event, Sam solves the problem, shrugging off his serious mood. He flashes his dimples instead. “Could touch something else, if you like.”

“Go on, then,” Max says. “If you insist. Be nice and I might even let you hold it.”

(He thinks, _one day we’re going to talk about this._ )

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for indulging this latest obsession, ahahaha


End file.
